


To Help You Greet The End

by losingmymindtonight



Series: I Never Lived 'Til I Lived In Your Light [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Coma, Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Dies, This is sad guys, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and I shatter it into a million pieces, please be aware of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/pseuds/losingmymindtonight
Summary: Tony had never really understood that death could be slow.--(A possible ending to 5 Times Morgan Woke Peter Up And The 1 Time She Couldn't. This is the sad ending. If you'd like to read the happy ending, it's called Earth, Sky, Or Ground.)





	To Help You Greet The End

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE BEFORE YOU PROCEED.  
> There are two possible endings to 5 Times Morgan Woke Peter Up And The 1 Time She Couldn't. This is the sad ending, in which Peter dies. When I say that this is sad, I'm serious. It's probably the saddest thing I've ever written, but I'm also intensely proud of it. Please don't read it if you're going to trigger yourself.  
> The songs that I listened to while writing this, and the songs from which the lyrics that appear at the beginning and end of the fic are stolen from, are Holy Mountain by The Anatomy of Frank and Hospital Hymns by Corey Kilgannon.  
> I am not a medical professional. I did my best to research the end of life process as faithfully as I could, but I have no doubts that there are still some mistakes. Please be understanding while you read.
> 
> WARNINGS: death, descriptions of a corpse (not graphic or in any way violent, but it's there), explaining death to children, grief, removing life support, generally just a lot of very sad themes

_It'd be worse than death_  
_To hear the tempo of your breath_  
_And the machines that moved your chest up and down_  
_Up and down_

\--

“Most people choose to leave while we remove the ventilator and other support,” Helen explained, voice lowered. Everyone was doing that now: speaking softly, like any harsh noise might break the smothering grief that had engulfed the MedBay. Like they were terrified of what might be lurking underneath it. “We’ll bring you back in as soon as we’re finished. We won’t need any monitors, since F.R.I.D.A.Y. can help us check his vitals from the hall. The only equipment left will be his IV. I’ll be doing all of the final care, and I’ll leave to give you privacy in between.”

Tony hadn’t even realized that May had grabbed his hand until he felt her squeezing it.

He cleared his throat, words slow. “Do you have any idea how long…?”

“It’s… hard to estimate,” Helen murmured. “Some patients are gone within an hour, and others may linger for days. Considering his brain activity, I imagine he may fall somewhere between the two. There won’t be any discomfort. We’ll manage everything with a variety of medications, hence the IV staying in place.”

There was crack in the universe, Tony decided. It had begun to sprout the moment Peter’s heart quit beating on the roof, and it was nearly ready to shatter. He’d be living amongst the shards now. That would be the symphony to which the rest of his life would be composed: the irreversible brokenness of breathing when your child does not.

“Pepper said that it would,” his voice caught, and he blinked heavily against the tears that were already heating behind his eyes, “she said that some people think it’s a good idea to let Morgan come… come see him.”

Cho’s eyes were sad. “I’ve done some research on that myself. It… I think it would be best if you give her some time to say goodbye very soon after we’ve removed the respirator, once we’ve determined how stable his breathing is. After that, I think it would probably be best to wait until it’s over, and then let her have some time with the bo-” Cho cut herself off with a wince, “with _him_ ,” she amended carefully.

Tony, on the other hand, had never learned the same delicacy. “It’s… You think I should let her curl up with his _corpse?_ ”

To his surprise, May was the one who intervened. She spun him to face her and gripped both his biceps in a firm grip. “Tony, I… I helped Pepper do some of the research, and that _is_ the general consensus on how to handle this sort of thing. I know it sounds morbid, but it’s supposed to help her comprehend what’s happened.”

“The idea of withholding death from children is a very Western concept,” Cho added, not unkindly. “In many cultures, Morgan would be present for the whole process. But… these sorts of things _can_ become frightening, especially in the final stages. He may gasp for air, or look like he’s in pain. Once it’s over, though, you’ll have the time and space to explain it to her.”

For some reason, the final sentence snapped through him like a whip.

 _Time and space._ He couldn’t help but think of all the time he would have, now, of all the empty space he’d never be able to fill. The kid was supposed to move apartments in a few months. Tony had the date marked off in his calendar. What would he do, then? What about the day he was meant to graduate? His birthdays?

So much vacant time and space.

“Right,” he choked out, eloquent evading him.

There were no words for this kind of thing, no way to quantify the kind of tragedy playing out in real time all around them.

This was death. This was what it was in all it’s glory. It wasn’t poetic, it wasn’t pristine and carefully portrayed on a silver screen. It was white-walled hospital rooms and the stench of antiseptic. It was clinging to a life that you knew had to end, that you knew, deep in your heart, had _already_ ended.

It was trying to find a way to tell you daughter that she had to say goodbye to her brother, because her father was going to let him die.

Every inch of Cho was bleeding sympathy, _pity_. For once in his life, he didn’t despise it. He was a creature of pity now. So was May. The parents of a dead child: the most pity-inspiring thing on the planet.

“It’ll be alright, Tony,” Cho offered quietly.

It was a lie, of course, but not one that he could fault her for. After all, he’d told Peter everything would be alright, too.

And after today, nothing would ever be alright again.

\--

Tony almost wished he’d demanded to be in the room while they removed the ventilator.

Sure, he understood Helen’s decision to keep them outside. It wouldn’t be pretty, it wasn’t the way anyone should have to remember their child: plastic tube being drawn from their throat, another being dragged from their nose. It was easier this way, kinder. Without the trauma of watching the medical equipment removed, he could spend Peter’s final moments staring at _his_ child, the face _he_ knew, free from tubes and wires and monitor pads.

But not knowing hurt. He spent every second wondering if _this_ was it, if he was living through the moment he let Peter’s life begin to end. He wondered if he was breathing. Helen had told them that she suspected he would for a while, although not effectively, but another total respiratory failure at the removal of the ventilator wasn’t out of the question. How much longer did they have? How much longer did Tony want? It would be kinder if he went quick, but Tony wanted to put off that moment for as long as he could, couldn’t stand the thought of living through it.

Helen stepped into the hallway, eyes downturned with sadness. “You can go in now.”

Tony let May lead him to the doorway. She paused in front of Helen, palm resting against the wooden frame. “How is he?”

“He was gasping a little once we removed the tube, but we managed to control it right from the onset.”

“So he’s breathing?” Tony asked. He didn’t know why he was so desperate for the reassurance. The whole point of this was so that he would _stop_ breathing. It was the right thing, the _humane_ thing. But still, even after making the decision, Tony couldn’t quite bring himself to find comfort in the idea of Peter just… ceasing.

“He is. It’s not entirely regular, but he _is_ breathing.” Helen touched his elbow gently, barely pressing down. It still made him bring his eyes to hers. “I think he’ll go quickly, Tony. You should both go be with him.”

“Morgan?” He asked, a little desperate. He didn’t know for what. He’d been apprehensive about the concept of letting her watch this from the beginning, but a part of him would feel forever guilty if he stole away her chance to say goodbye.

“It should be fine to let her come. I imagine it may actually be less distressing than the ventilator for her.” Cho gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. “Have her leave when you feel it’s time. She’s your daughter, and it’s your call.”

For once, Tony just wished someone would tell him what to do. This wasn’t something he could navigate, this wasn’t something he’d ever expected to have to navigate. Who plans for their child’s death?

“How do I know?” He croaked, looking between May and Cho, desperate for guidance. “How do I know when she’s ready to leave? When she’s… when she’s done saying goodbye?”

“You’ll know,” May said, and the look in her eyes almost made him believe it, “you _will_. Just like we know that he’s ready, you’ll know when she is, too.”

He hoped with everything he had that she was right. Even more so, he hoped that Morgan would find acceptance, peace, _understanding_ in the next few hours.

He knew that he wouldn’t.

\--

The first thing Tony noticed when Morgan came into the room was that she was clutching one of her favorite stuffed animals: a tan rabbit that Peter had given her soon after she was born.

He’d saved up to buy it, although Tony hadn’t known that at the time. Apparently, he’d seen it in some store window and decided, in his usual one-track-mind attitude, that Morgan just _had_ to have it.

She loved the damn thing.

He shoved down his grief, his terror, smothered the soul-deep shriek that his entire being was making with a metaphorical blanket. At the end of the day, he was a father. He was still Morgan’s, and he would _always_ be Peter’s.

If there was ever a time to be strong for his children, it was now. Morgan needed someone to be patient, to be kind, to _explain_ , and Peter needed someone to hold his hand guide him gently through the end.

Neither of these tasks were things he felt qualified for, but he had to do them anyway.

That was what parenthood was, right? A series of obstacles, each one more terrifying than the last, navigating a maze without a map and a sky full of star-obscuring clouds.

He had never been prepared. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he’d been training for this, for the thing he could never _possibly_ have prepared for.

For letting Peter go.

“Hey, Morgan.” He smiled at her, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of Peter’s palm. “Is Bunny coming, too?”

“I brought him for Peter,” Morgan murmured, shuffling her feet as she left Pepper’s side and came to his: their usual dance. “Mommy said I can’t stay with Peter, but that Bunny could.”

He didn’t miss May ducking her head into her arm to hide her sob across the kid’s bed, and he sure as hell didn’t miss the way his own gut constricted at the words.

“Bunny sure can,” he whispered, pulling Morgan into his lap and dropping a kiss to the crown of her head. “Did Mommy tell you what’s happening now?”

She nodded. “Miss Cho took away the machines that were helping Peter breath, so now he’s gonna stop.”

Children’s emotions had always baffled Tony. Morgan didn’t look anymore distressed than she had during every single other visit. She just looked… normal. Hesitant, like always, and a little morose, but there wasn’t any hint of the void-growing grief that seemed to have possessed everyone else.

He didn’t know if he pitied or envied her for it.

“Yeah, baby,” every word ached in his throat, at the roof of his mouth, “and you know that we need to breathe to live, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you know that… that Peter’s going to die now, right? When he stops breathing, he’s going to die.”

He felt like an asshole, saying it, but he knew that he was following just about every piece of advice he’d been given. Honesty was the best policy, even if it seemed brutal. Morgan had to understand the permanency of this. And, maybe more importantly, she _deserved_ to understand that this was the end.

Morgan studied Peter’s face for a while, reaching out to poke his arm. Tony didn’t stop her. It wasn’t like the kid could feel it, anyway.

“Dying looks normal,” she finally said.

She was right. It was the same concept he’d been grappling with since entering the room. For the first time in weeks, Peter looked exactly like himself. No ventilator, no monitor, no sticky pads all over his face and chest. Just Peter, eyes closed and lips parted. A part of Tony wanted to scoop him up, carry him to his room. If he put him there, it would be so easy to pretend. Tomorrow they’d all wake up, eat breakfast. Peter would complain about whatever lab report he had due that week, Morgan would babble about her newest coloring book. Tony could burn the bacon and Pepper would kick him out of the kitchen, exasperated but eyes sparkling with love.

It could be a normal day. A nice, normal day.

Except it wasn’t. It was _the last_ day.

“It does look normal, doesn’t it?” He whispered, improvising as he spoke. “That’s… That’s because dying isn’t really all that scary, especially when you’ve got people with you to help.”

For the first time since Morgan arrived, May spoke. She was watching them with teary eyes, obviously holding herself together just for the child’s sake. “Morgan, honey, Cho said you could sit with Peter on the bed, if you’d like.”

“I wasn’t allowed to do that before,” she whispered, glancing back at Tony, checking to see if it was okay.

“Well, Miss Cho thinks it’s alright now, since all the machines are gone.”

 _What harm are you going to cause at this point?_ He thought, bitterness rising up on his tongue. _We’re letting him die. There’s nothing left to preserve. Nothing… Nothing left for me to protect._

_Just a broken body and the memory of a kid that I thought I’d have forever._

He helped Morgan climb onto the bed. Once she was up, he dropped his hands and let her decide where she wanted to go.

His heart broke clean in two when she crawled right up to Peter’s chest and tried to tuck herself into his side, letting out a little _humph_ of frustration when the kid’s arm stayed a deadweight against the mattress. Tony gently grabbed it by the wrist and gave her room to situate herself in her usual position: head resting on Peter’s collarbone, body curled against the side of his ribs. Once she had settled, he swallowed back the lump in his throat and carefully laid the kid’s arm so that Morgan had the illusion of him holding her.

As a whole, the scene in front of him was one he’d seen hundreds of times before. Morgan would curl up under Peter’s arm, the kid would tug her close, shelter her with his body. They’d fall asleep like that a lot, both his babies tangled together and warm and safe.

It was a good image. One of his favorite memory compilations.

Part of him hated that this would become a piece on those collections. For the rest of time, he’d have his picture burned in his mind: Morgan, clinging desperately to a brother that was never going to hold her again.

He steadied his trembling hands on the side of the mattress, and met May’s eyes for support. She gave him a little nod, and he steeled himself against the coming ordeal.

Now was the time, now was the moment. He had to do it, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

“Do you want to tell him goodbye?” He asked, forcing his voice to stay steady, rubbing her back more for his comfort than for hers. “Do you… Do you have anything special you want to say?”

Morgan looked up from where she’d buried her face into Peter’s chest, little eyebrows pulling together as she considered.

“ _Goodbye_ goodbye?” She asked softly, voice impossibly small and impossibly sad.

_This is wrong. Children should never sound that defeated, that miserable. This is so wrong. This is so, so wrong._

“Yeah, baby.” He was proud of himself for holding it together, even though all he wanted to do was come apart. “This is… this is _goodbye_ goodbye, now.”

“Oh.” Morgan blinked, expression tentative. “I… I dunno.”

“You could tell him that you love him,” May offered, and Tony nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered, turning back to Peter slowly. “I love you, Petey. I love you tons and tons and _tons_. You’re the best big brother in the entire world.” She dropped her face into Peter’s chest. “I… I wish you hadn’t gone to sleep when Daddy told you not to. I didn’t like that.”

Tony bit his knuckles to stop himself from crying. May stepped away from the bed, turned her back. Tony could see the shuddering breath she let out in the quiver of her shoulders.

“Peter loved you so much, Morgan, y’know that?” There were tears dripping down his face. There was no more stopping them, no more concealing his pain from her. It was in his voice, painted all over his face. He hoped, at the very least, that it taught her that it was okay to be sad. That it was okay to cry when bad things happened. “He… there wasn’t anything else in the world that he loved more than you, I think.”

Morgan squeezed closer into Peter’s side. “Well, there isn’t anything else in the world that I love more than Petey, either, so we’re the same.”

They really were, too. Tony imagined that it would make surviving the rest of his life even more difficult. Morgan took after Peter in ways that didn’t make sense, considering they didn’t actually share any DNA. She laughed just like Peter did, without weight or restraint. There was something about her face shape that was reminiscent of the kid’s, and her hair had the same kind of curl, the same light texture.

Perhaps more painfully, Morgan had Peter’s brilliance. His wide-eyed wonder. There was an innocence and an intelligence in their eyes that should’ve clashed, but instead became complimentary.

Maybe they were so similar because Morgan had grown up with Peter as her role model. That had always been Tony’s intention, one of the first thoughts that had swept through him when Pepper handed him that positive pregnancy test. _At the very least, she’ll always have Peter._

They were meant to be there for each other. As morbid as it sounded, Tony had found a certain kind of peace in knowing that neither Peter nor Morgan would have to face the world alone after he and Pepper were gone. After all, he still keenly remembered the aftermath of his parents’ deaths: the paperwork he’d had to sign, the calls he’d had to make, the chaos of funeral arrangements. He’d had to go through all of that alone. He’d had no sibling to lean on. The weight had rested entirely on his shoulders.

But Morgan and Peter… they were supposed to bring each other through those moments. They could make those choices together, go to bed at night knowing, at the very least, that they would never have to be alone.

Peter was supposed to be Morgan’s lifelong hero, her permanency. Who would she look up to, now? Tony?

God, he hoped not.

“Daddy?” The name jolted him back to reality, the bitter-cold of the hospital room washing through him in pins-and-needles pain. “Does Petey really have to go now?”

His eyes wandered up to Peter’s face. He drank in his chapped lips, sunken eyes, bloodless cheeks. He tried to conjure up an image of _his_ Peter, the Peter with life in every inch of his limbs, but each flash got lost in the haze of premature loss.

This is what he’d forced the kid to become. His child. His beautiful, beautiful child. He was just an echo of himself, held together by machines and sterile bedsheets. Peter _was_ life. He had bled vibrancy, breathed light. What kind of monster had Tony become, to stretch out his end like this?

He should’ve died on that rooftop, warm and instant. That would’ve been kindness, really.

Nobody should have to linger at the end. But for some reason, Tony realized, in a flash of grief-gifted clarity, that children, should they have to die, ought to die suddenly. All at once. There should be no false hopes, no grasping at fading sunsets and hand-me-downs that will be eternally too big.

“Yeah,” he rasped. He promised himself that, one day, he would think of Peter and see sparkling brown eyes, mile-wide grins, laughter that bubbled over couches and lab tables. He would remember the kid as life, not in the sepia tones of death. “Yeah. Petey… Petey has to go, now.”

And for maybe the very first time, he really, truly believed it.

\--

Tony had never really understood that death could be slow.

He just… hadn’t really considered it. For his whole life, he’d never imagined living long enough that he’d die regularly, if there even _was_ a regular way to die. After Iron Man, he’d imagined it would be sudden. Violent, probably. An explosion, a gunshot, a faulty prototype.

For Tony Stark, he’d never considered death to be _gentle_. It wasn’t supposed to take its time. It just happened, all at once. Even after all of Cho’s softly spoken explanations, preparations, he’d still just sort of expected that one second Peter would be alive, warm, sleeping, and then the next, he’d just… be gone.

But that was not even a little bit how it was going.

About an hour after Morgan left, Peter started something that Cho called _Cheyne-Stokes breathing_.

Tony just called it exactly what it was: fucking _horrifying_.

The kid would be breathing relatively normally, albeit a little slow, a little unrhythmic, and then he would take a handful of deep, borderline desperate breaths, and just… stop.

Each time he did it, Tony would wonder if this was it. It had to come eventually, right? They were hurdling towards the event horizon. Maybe they’d finally tipped over the edge. Death was crashing into the kid, slipping under his skin and pulling him into an embrace that even Tony couldn’t scare away.

“It’s funny,” May murmured at some point, right after the kid had stopped and started breathing all over again. Her strained eyes clashed against his own, two shared pools of loss, “I don’t know whether I want to ask him to stay or beg him to let go.”

Tony wrapped one of Peter’s drooping curls around his finger. “I wonder if he needs permission.”

It was a ridiculous thing to say, especially for him. He was a man of science. Despite what Cho and everyone else seemed to think, he understood what the lack of brain activity on Peter’s scans meant.

Peter was gone. He’d seen him go, had seen the life leech out of him on that rooftop. The kid had died staring into his eyes. Tony’s face was the last thing that he had ever seen.

There wasn’t any Peter left in the body pressed against his side. It was just skin, blood, muscles. Dying organs stuttering in a dying shell. A remnant.

But… those were the things that Tony logically knew. Somewhere in his heart, in the part of him that existed outside the sphere of cold hard facts, he couldn’t help but worry that Peter was holding on because he thought that they weren’t ready to let him go.

May didn’t ridicule him for the comment. She just nodded, as if she’d been wondering the same thing, and pressed her lips up close to Peter’s ear, the kid’s limp hand clutched tightly in her own.

“You can… You can go now, baby,” she whispered, and Tony could hear the swallowed-down sobs in her voice. “It’s alright, you can rest now. We’re all going to be okay. Pepper and I will look after Tony and Morgan.” May pressed closer, brought her free hand up to cup Peter’s face. “Just relax, sweetheart. We’ve kept you with us too long as it is, no need to be brave for us anymore. It’s time for you to go, and that’s okay with me, baby. That’s okay.”

He realized, in the silence that followed, that it was his turn.

His turn to tell Peter Parker that it was okay to die.

He assumed a similar position to May, pressed his nose into the side of the kid’s head, curls tickling his face. One of his palms was resting lightly over Peter’s chest as it shuddered up and down.

“Yeah, kid.” His voice come out gruff, like he’d been gargling shards of glass. “You’ve put up one hell of a fight, but we don’t win all of ‘em, yeah? You’re… You’re off duty now, Spider-Man. I’ll look after Queens for you. I’ll… I’ll look after everything.”

There were a million goodbyes he could say. Trillions of things Peter deserved to hear, trillions of things Tony wanted to speak into the world.

None of that mattered, anymore. He knew that.

The only thing that mattered was making sure Peter knew that he was loved. Making sure that he knew that it was okay for him to flicker out.

“I love you, buddy.” He kissed Peter’s temple, forced himself to ignore the fact that the skin was cool and waxy. “I love you, but you need to let go now. You’ve been fighting for so long, kiddo. You must be so, so tired.” Everything inside him hurt, so nothing did. It was a strange sort of suspension, a fullness that was empty and bursting in opposing moments. “Just try to sleep. Maybe think about your parents, or Uncle Ben.”

_Or think about the fact that I love you. That’s what I’ll be doing. I’ll be thinking about how much I love you for the rest of my life: a background process that can never be removed._

\--

Peter’s final breaths were, strangely, some of the most peaceful Tony had ever heard.

The rasping stopped in those final minutes. Without the chest-grating gurgles, it was ethereally quiet in the room. Every once in a while, Tony and May’s breaths would line up with one of Peter’s, and they would all gasp in at once.

There was nothing climactic about that final breath. Peter didn’t move, didn’t twitch, didn’t give any outward indication of his body’s final white flag. It just… happened.

Peter took a soft breath in. In retrospect, Tony would make that breath a lot grander than it actually was. He’d convince himself that it was gentler than the rest, more tinged with peace. In reality, it was just a regular inhale. There wasn’t anything that set it apart from the others, besides the significance that the absence of another gave it in the scheme of things.

That was how life worked, he supposed. Humans attributed worth through beginnings and conclusions. Rainy days were noticeable because they were aberrations, because sunshine proceeded storm clouds. Sadness tastes bitter because we become accustomed to joy. Last breaths shake down rafters because of the lack of inhales that follow. Or, maybe even more, because of the thousands of breaths that fall like dominoes into that final lungful. A lifetime composed in the key of respiration.

Peter’s last exhale was noticeably deeper than the others. Tony imagined that if they’d been in a movie, Peter’s body would have relaxed into it, tangible evidence of what had happened.

A few seconds passed without another breath. Tony rubbed a thumb over Peter’s ribs. Across from him, May was adjusting the collar of his hospital gown.

A few more second passed, and Peter lay still. Silent.

Something fell over the room, then. Neither Tony nor May froze in horror. They didn’t gasp, or let out strangled screams of grief.

Tony just looked up, hand slipping reverently through Peter’s hair. It was the only farewell Tony could think to give him, at this point. It had always been a mutual comfort in life. Maybe, just maybe, it would help him settle into death, too.

At the very least, it lessened some of the burden that had settled in his stomach, and he imaged that Peter would’ve liked that, if he’d known.

May’s eyes met his, and they shared the understanding between them.

Peter had listened. He’d let himself go, drifted somewhere just out of their reach.

For some reason, the primary emotion Tony felt in those immediate moments was not anger, or turmoil, or even sadness. It was a peaceful sense of completion.

It was over. All that struggle, all that suffering, and it was over, now.

He didn’t have to worry about Peter, anymore. He was alright. Safe. Resting.

“That’s it, baby,” May murmured, sniffing a little as her fingers drifted along the kid’s cheek. “That was so brave. We’re _so_ proud of you.”

Tony wondered if it really did take bravery to die. He thought that it would, if he’d been in Peter’s position. To leave everything behind would be terribly frightening.

He didn’t know if he’d have the strength to do it, when his time came.

May reached out across Peter’s still chest and took his hand. He let her pull him in closer, until the kid was wedged tightly between them. Then, they clung to each other, anguish sloshing between them in silence.

He buried his face into Peter’s hair. He was lukewarm against him, muscles still soft and pliable.

“Good boy,” he choked out, surprised by the wave of tears that swept his feet out from underneath him. He hadn’t felt them coming, although maybe he should’ve anticipated them. “You did… you did so well, buddy. God, Peter, you did _so well_.”

 _And I love you,_ he thought, although it felt wrong to say it, now, like it shouldn’t be voiced when the kid was no longer around to hear it. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

Cho came in a few minutes later, murmuring soft condolences and asking if there was anything they needed. He thought he answered, probably some half-sobbed version of _no, thank you, the only thing I need is my child to open his eyes take a breath in my arms, but I’m never going to get that ever again._

Soon, he would have to pull himself together enough to let Morgan come visit. Soon, he would have to let the workers from the funeral home come take Peter away. Soon, he would have to face down living the rest of his life with a permanent emptiness in his soul.

For now, he just closed his eyes, took deep breaths, soaking in the fact that even now, Peter still smelled like _Peter_ , and tried to imagine that in a different world, a kinder world, he got to die before his child.

\--

 _My prayers started tasting like little white lies_  
_Everything is gonna be fine_  
_Everything is gonna be fine_  
_Honey, everything is gonna be fine_


End file.
